here without you
by anonymous.mystery95
Summary: A confession of love to one's best friend is something Cisco feels as though he should have planned better. Like, let's say, not before he disappears on an undercover mission, likely never to see her again. (He does it anyways.) [day ii of the killervibefanficweek]


A confession of love to one's best friend is something Cisco feels as though he should have planned better.

Like, let's say, not before he disappears on an undercover mission, likely never to see her again.

But he can't not tell her, Caitlin standing in front of him, teary eyed and blubbering about how she'll miss him and how he needs to come back to her and how she'll give him all her pizza pockets and that she won't complain when he eats her strawberry yogurt if he just return alive and healthy and _alive_.

And maybe telling her while they are standing in front of his car, minutes before he leaves isn't the best idea or - as he thinks later - maybe it's cruel. But he knows the dangers of the mission just as much, if not more so than she does , the drug cartel known for their viciousness . There is a high risk he may not come out of it alive, and he can't live with the knowledge she never knew just how much she meant to him.

And he can't die with that knowledge either.

They collide somewhere in the middle in a hug, her arms tight around him, desperate to never let go. And she sobs in his arms, apologies interspersed with her tears. Her tight grip is what holds him together, Cisco biting back his own tears as she breaks apart.

They ignore Harry, the man barking at the pair to hurry up. Because if this is the last time they would be able to touch and hold each other, they would take their time. But they can't deny the inevitable, Caitlin pulling her face away from his neck, the back of her sleeve used as a handkerchief as she tries to hold herself together. His hand is soft on her cheek, thumb wiping away the tears that were still falling. And she tries to smile at him, tries to remain strong when she can't. His smile is more easy, Cisco accepting whatever fate would bring him, glad to have lived the life he did, to have befriended the people he did. To have loved the people he does. "I love you."

She nods against his hand, leaning into his touch. "Love you too Cisco." The hot puffs of her breath brush against his wrist, lips skimming his palm as she says the words he had always wanted to hear. And he had heard them before, but she misses his meaning entirely.

"No Caitlin," he shakes his head, a tender kiss against her forehead before he backs away from her, hand on the door handle. And there is one last glance back at the Star crew, Barry and Iris holding each other for strength, Harry giving him one sharp nod. And Caitlin, dear sweet Caitlin... "I love you," he repeats, voice thick with unshed tears.

Her smile fades and confusion takes it place. He turns the to the door, too afraid to see the rest of her reaction. The door is heavy to open, a new life on the other side of it. But he had committed to it, and he slips inside, putting the car into drive and pulling away from his family, his life.

The glance into the rear view mirror gives him the last sight of them. And he sees Caitlin. Barry holds her back and she is fighting his hold, her mouth screaming words he cannot hear.

Words he may never have the chance to.

* * *

When he exits the car he isn't Cisco Ramon.

He is a Michael Evans, a man recently running away from his marriage, escaping to Florida for a new life, for a second chance.

The job at Mercury Labs is good, but he needs more money. And quickly. He goes to a local bar, bemoaning the separation of him and his wife, complaining that she was draining him with her fancy lawyer. He drinks far too much, his lips loose and mind spinning as he asks the bartender if he knew of any way he could get some extra cash. The guy gives him a pitying look and recommends to try and earn money from selling his sperm.

It's funny, Michael thinks. Probably far too much, the man laughing until he cries. But he doesn't take him up on the advice, dragging his feet home, ready to nurse the hangover that would hit him the next day.

And the next night he returns, and the night after that, and the night after that. The bar is like his second home and he comes to know the other locals. There is a gang of men sitting in a booth together, but he doesn't talk to them. He's heard the rumours floating in the air and Michael values his life.

But when they approach _him_ with an offer to help alleviate his debts he doesn't hesitate to accept it. The man's name is Fred, had been watching him for a while now, thought that he may be useful. And he slaps Michael on the back at his acceptance, a smile across his face, ordering a drink for his newest friend.

Michael observes him, Fred a mid-thirties man with missing teeth and a tan line in place of his wedding ring, with blond hair and a 6′5 frame, more muscle than fat. It doesn't scare him, not like it should. They bond over bad experiences with exes, bitter over custody battles and court hearings and alimony. And Michael asks for more details, Fred slipping him an address and a time, telling him to be there.

Michael is.

The mission goes very well.

* * *

It takes another month before Fred introduces him to the gang, the other men far more scrutinising when they meet him. But he worms his way into their ranks, eager to please and impress, Michael working hard to earn their trust and respect. He displays his technical prowess, a whizz with computers. But he is also a good shot, defending them if ever needed. He saves Fred's life twice, the man becoming more relaxed around him after each operation, taking Michael under his wing, grooming him into becoming a key player in the ring. Michael appears appreciative, other men in the gang more obvious in their annoyance of this display of favouritism.

All the while he is working to bring them down.

He hacks their system for times they would receive shipments, the FBI intercepting the drugs before they can be collected and distributed. It annoys the higher-ups, Michael witnessing more than one outburst of anger, having to dispose of the bodies believed to be the traitors to the group.

It is hard going home after those days, the facade of Michael left at the door, hung up on the coat rack. It just leaves him, leaves Cisco alone, the burdens of his cover still weighing on his soul, the names of the dead branded on his skin with their blood. The ritual every time is the same, Cisco washing his hands, retching in the toilet at the memory of those poor men killed in his place. He sees blood on his hands, tries desperately to scrub it off his skin, to rid himself of the blame. The shower is scalding, as if he could burn it off. He doesn't succeed, never does.

They were sleepless nights at the beginning, then nightmares, the visions of the men reaching out to him, pleading for mercy, asking how many people would die in his stead. He would wake up in a start, Cisco panting, clothes soaked in sweat, the phantom touches of their ghosts still brushing against him.

But the dreams become less frequent, Cisco lowly numbing himself to the deaths, a necessity if he were expected to survive the mission with his sanity and his life. And then they stop completely.

Instead he dreams of Caitlin.

She is laughing, a vision of perfection before him, the pair in their lab, exchanging teasing barbs and smiles. He can't stop himself, pressing kisses against her lips as she laughs against him, Caitlin unable to help herself. She smiles with her lips and eyes, kissing him just as frequently. It is so beautiful and pure he hates having to wake up. There more explicit dreams, dreams of sex and sweat and throaty groans and sultry sighs and he wakes hard and frustrated.

And then there are the nightmares.

They start off innocently and not-so-innocent. They start off with Caitlin by his side, in his arms, across the table. She is happy, she is smiling. She is alive. But then there is Fred, a smile on his lips as he comes from behind her. And Cisco's arms are like stone, his voice box unable to work. He can't move her out of the way, can't warn her of the attack. And he hear the gun shot, can see the wound that forms in the centre of her stomach, red blooming from it, Caitlin covering the hole with her hands, but unable to stop the blood. She looks at him sad and betrayed, Cisco gathering her in his arms, telling her she'll be okay when he knows she won't. And she smiles the smile that normally sends his heart into overdrive and leaves his mind fuzzy. But now his heart turns into a rock, sinking as her eyelids flutter closed and she stops breathing.

He turns and glares at Fred, but it isn't Fred that shoots her. It is another person that is standing beside him, looking up to his boss with a proud grin on his face, wiping the splatter of blood on his crisp, white Mercury Labs coat, the smoking gun still in his hand.

It is Michael Evans.

It is Cisco.

They leave him waking up, her name on his lips, voice hoarse as he screams it. His hand blindly reaches for his cellphone when they start, Cisco half way through dialling her number when the the cold, harsh facts of reality sinks in. He can't call her, can't hear her voice one more time, can't soothe the desperate need clawing inside him to ensure she is alive and safe, can't relax against his pillow and smile as she laughs at his concern, a smile in her voice as she teases him of loving her, can't nod off as she stays on the phone, encouraging him to sleep, promising to stay on until she hears his steady breathing and even after.

He isn't supposed to even know her.

Cisco can never sleep after those dreams, visions of a bloody and dying Caitlin flashing behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. And Michael feels the effects of it in the morning, motions sluggish and mind not at all alert, the consequences of little and disturbed sleep.

It only leaves him more determined to bring them down.

* * *

It takes him a while to get what he needs, concrete evidence linking all of them to the crimes. It would have been easier if he wore a bug or wire, but it would have resulted in his death, the security of the ring advanced. But he finds it eventually, information not properly disposed of, shadows of documents still residing on their computers. And he saves it, a breath of relief as he slowly pieces together the prosecution's case against them, before disappearing without anyone realising he had been in the offices, scouring for whatever he could.

* * *

But he wants more, goes searching for more,

and that almost leads to his downfall.

* * *

There is an extraction plan if he ever felt as though his cover was going to be blown or if he got the information they had needed to make the arrests. This scenario was a mixture of both.

It was his wife.

His extraction plan was his wife.

He had mentioned her, bemoaned her, regretted leaving her enough over the past year that seeing her would not be the most strangest thing, not with all the ties he still had to his old life still tangling him up.

His cover is the rambling type, complaining about the lawyer in the proceedings, the stresses of it all. He laid the groundwork for his extraction, mentioning in passing that he may have to go back for the court hearing on the distribution of their assets.

Harry knew he had taken the documents and agreed to send someone, Cisco antsy while waiting for her to come.

It all comes to a head in the bar, Cisco nursing his drink, gaze subtly flickering to the doorway where Iris would likely come and cause a scene. The gang are in a booth, Cisco on the outskirts, still on the outskirts, even when he's Fred's right hand man. But now he doesn't mind. His thoughts distract him, thoughts on fights and scenarios and possible exit pathways and not his friends. They drag him into the present, hand claps on his back reaching into his mind, pulling him from the fantasies he was concocting.

There is a commotion, whistles and appreciative grunt and murmurs and he follows the gaze of everyone else, looking to the door.

He sees his extraction plan.

He sees Caitlin.

His former wife is Caitlin. Caitlin with her locks of auburn hair flowing behind her, Caitlin who wasn't in her pencil skirts, but a body hugging green dress, her lips painted in blood. And she is like an avenging angel, beautiful and deadly and angry. She is so, so very angry.

There is no control over his body, there can't be when Caitlin is here. After a year of not seeing her, not talking to her, not touching her. She was here and he could see her, he could talk to her. He could touch her. He ignores the murmurs of his friends, his legs walking over to her.

He stops a few feet from her, drinking in the sight of her thirstily. "Caitlin?" It is a hallowed whisper, his hand reaching out to touch her, hovering mid air. Because he thinks that it may be a dream, thinks that he had finally snapped, that reality and his imagination were blurring together to the point he couldn't differentiate between them. And if it is a dream, he didn't want her to disappear. "You- you're here?" It comes out choked, thick with emotion. "You can't be here. That's not possible."

Her gaze is unreadable, and he thinks there is a pang of sadness. She mouths his name, his real name, not the cover he had. Cisco, she says noiselessly. _Cisco_.

Cisco wasn't ready for this, he hadn't planned how Michael would react if his partner was _Caitlin_.

Apparently he can't keep his hands off her. And she can't him.

It is a collision between them, rough and desperate and they are one body, moving smoothly, moulding themselves against the curves and angles of the other, no gap between Caitlin and Cisco. They kiss roughly, a year of pent-up emotion finding its release in the moment, an explosion of lust and need leaving them both as casualties, succumbing to the feelings that had always bubbled just underneath the surface. Her hand finds his hair, tugs it out of the band holding it back, running fingers through it. He swallows her moan, addicted to the taste of it, wants to feast on it and take his time enjoying it. But they're in public and he can't peel off her layers, can't have her underneath him and screaming as he kisses his way across her body, like a lost wanderer searching for a path to paradise. So he kisses her, a name slipping out in a broken whisper, his grip on her hips bruising as he pulls her tightly against him, his hand sliding up her back, holding her to him, not letting her escape. She pulls back an inch, but he chases her, mouth sliding easily against her own, Caitlin melting against him, grip tightening in his hair as she pulls herself closer to him.

She pulls back from him eventually, breath laboured, lips bruised.

And she slaps him.

His friends hoot behind him, laughing at his pain, taking pleasure at the display in front of them, watching riveted. Her gaze is still hazy, Caitlin taking some time to come back to herself. "You." He can hear her scorn, her hatred. It is like an poisoned arrow to his heart, the concoction working its way through his system, shutting his body down. Caitlin was never that good of an actor. "You left me. You loved me and then you left." There is a quiver in her voice, from rage, from pain, it doesn't really matter in the moment. She snarls the next words. "I hate you."

It is the fatal blow, Cisco ready to fall to his knees, heart shattering inside him into tiny shards, cutting him into shreds as the broken pieces fall to the floor.

He almost tells her to stop, that they would deal with their own emotional falling out later on. But he realises her words are true in more ways than one. He had left his spouse without a word. He had left Caitlin after three too many.

He can barely meet her eyes, the flames of anger already burning him whole. "I'm sorry." It is through gritted teeth and he wonders if they believe the display happening in front of them. "I had to."

"You're sorry!" she screeches and her eyes flash and yeah, she is most definitely angry at him. "How do you think I've felt these past few months. You went to the other side of the country to escape me. You know what - I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever loved you."

His heart stops.

"I-I-I I wasn't escaping you." He stutters through the words. But he can't be expected to maintain his cover or composure, not when she said the words he had dreamt of hearing ever since he left. But it was past tense. She said loved. He had missed his opportunity and he may never recover from that knowledge. "I just - I couldn't stay." His voice is low and urgent. "I'm sorry."

He whispers the next words, too soft for anyone else to hear. And he isn't Michael, he is Cisco and she is Caitlin and the words come from the depths of his heart. "I love you. I don't think I'll ever stop."

And then his arms are empty of her body, Caitlin pulling away from him, towards the table he had abandoned. And then she spins on her heel, hand held out to him. "Keys." He slips her his house keys. "Address."

His face contorts. "Don't you have a hotel?"

Her eyebrow arches. "Excuse me? Do you think this conversation is _over_?" The look she gives him is enough to chill his bones.

"I hope you haven't befriended any of these -" she hesitates, glancing at his table, a sneer on her lips. "- _people_ because you're coming back home."

"I can't." He has to put up a fight, even if it is a poor one. He has no qualms about leaving the cover behind. "I have a job here, friends. A life."

She laughs, cold and hollow and she's not that good of an actor, he thinks, her bitterness is real and raw. "I hope you haven't forgotten the pre-nup. Laurel will squeeze you for every cent you have if you aren't at court on Monday. I mean, your lawyer could have told you this first but," she shrugs. "I guess I just wanted to see the look on your face."

He pales at the mention of Laurel, staggering slightly. Because if Laurel was being name-dropped in the conversation he knows that he was so close to being caught.

"I hope you have a spare room because if not," she chuckles softly. "Enjoy the couch."

She waltzes out of his life like she waltz back in, in a storm, leaving devastation in her wake.

Cisco is left alone, staring at her retreating figure, taking a moment to appreciate the view. He looks to his table, the guys laughing at him, teasing him about not having any balls. They rib him thoroughly and he takes it in his stride, a weak smile on his lips. He is far more preoccupied about her presence and safety in this scenario. She wasn't an actress, she wasn't trained for this situation.

"I hope the ass on her was worth the crap you're going to go through." His teeth grit at the words from Fred's mouth, a hard slap on his back as Cisco rejoins them. "Because her face isn't."

He is three seconds away from decking the other guy.

Taking them down was going to be that much sweeter.

But he plasters a smile on his face, even when he wants to frown and punch and injure everyone around him for that one comment alone. But he can't, not when he is so close to bringing them in and tearing the drug smuggling ring apart. "Guys, if I knew marrying rich would give me so much crap I wouldn't have done it." The laugh he does is forced and he has to leave now. Because he isn't sure if he can stand being with them any longer, not if they continue talking about her as they were. Not when Caitlin was waiting for him at his home. "Been nice guys."

That gives them a moment's pause, their smiles falling fractionally. "You're leaving now?" There is a menacing undercurrent to Fred's words, the man turning to her, gaze calculating as he looks over Cisco, as if for the first time.

"Well yeah." He gives them a look. "That girl has the keys to my house and is there alone. You think that's a good idea?" They look around at each other and his heart is in his throat as they consider his argument. But they nod and he feels a weight off his shoulders. He swears quietly, Cisco running his hand through his hair, enjoying the feeling of it. Being undercover as Michael had meant hair-ties and ponytails and he felt free again, felt more like himself. "Guess I gotta start packing," he moans, already bracing himself for the inevitable barrage of questions.

There isn't. There is only two.

"When you coming back?"

He breathes a sigh of relief. It is a simple question, more innocent than he was preparing himself for. "Oh please, this case will take a month tops. I'll get my half of her inheritance and then come right back baby." The smile on his face is stretched and he can't think of the last time he genuinely smiled with these people.

Cisco isn't sure how convincing he is throughout it all; he had been prepared for Iris appearing, was ready for her appearing. Seeing Caitlin, feeling her against him - his feelings had come rushing back, overwhelming him. And he isn't sure how he could appear to hate her when he was so utterly in love with her.

"Do you want us to take her out? Because we will." It comes across as an offer. He knows it isn't.

Cisco freezes, he knows exactly what they were saying, knows that his words will affect their future actions. But whether Caitlin can handle herself or not is the last thing on his mind. "I think I can handle her."

He slides out of the booth, out of the bar.

And out of their lives.

* * *

(They try anyway.)

* * *

He tries to think that the murder attempt on Caitlin's life is poorly organised if he also in the house when it takes place.

He knows that she was never the target.

Collateral damage, most definitely. He's worked with them for enough time to know this was going to be staged as a murder-suicide, that he would be pinned with the crime, embarrassed and seeking revenge before the horror of his actions hit him. Or maybe her, the distraught wife whose love had morphed into hatred, murdering her husband in cold blood before turning the weapon on herself.

They were never going to let him leave the city, not that easily, not when he knew so much about their operation.

There is no bomb in his car, the surprise visit from Caitlin and his subsequent chasing after her not leaving enough time for a plant.

She had her own weaponry out, her guns loaded and tucked in her belt and purse, but her favourite on the table. And then in her hand, pointing at him as he steps through the entryway to his home. And Caitlin doesn't lower it, not for a long time after he enters.

It stings.

"So, think they're going to follow you or -"

He collapses against the couch beside her, placing his gun by hers. "Oh yeah, they're going to come."

"You got all the information with you?" Her voice is tight, and Cisco winces, trying to ignore the coolness of the situation.

He nods at her words. "Slipped the USB in the hidden compartment of my shoe as soon as I got it."

She doesn't look at him, doesn't touch him. He doesn't realise how much it would hurt until it is happening and god, he thinks. None of his previous heartbreaks had hurt like this.

"You were sloppy. They caught sight of video evidence a few corridors away from the breach. They're suspicious of many people but you're too close to the top right now for Harry to feel comfortable."

"It's a good thing I've got you with me then."

He winces at the sound of the words out loud and she glares at him. "We're leaving Cisco."

And before he can move she is leaning forward, pressing him against the couch, body covering his own. He can't think, no thoughts processing when he felt her slim body over his, pinning him down.

But then he hears the gunshot.

It pierces through the couch where his head used to be and Caitlin is already reaching to the table, picking up her gun. She shoots at the window where, he assumes, the gunman was located. And she runs out of bullets, Cisco leaning across from underneath her, to the table to grab his own gun while she rolls off him, reloading hers. There is movement in front of the house, a sound moving across to the door, a thud against it as the intruder attempts to kick it down and succeeds. They both shoot at them.

There is a cry of pain, a body jerking as they both strike it, falling to their knees and then down, face first, blood staining his white carpet. He sighs, Caitlin scrambling off of him and running to the body, feeling for a pulse and groaning in frustration as she fails to find it. She pulls the mask off them and holds him up, Cisco glancing at the face.

It was Brad, Cisco realises. Nice lad, eager to impress Fred and the rest of the gang. Must have volunteered to kill him before he could walk or talk.

Pity.

She drops the body unceremoniously, running a hand through her hair, pushing the hair in the front of her face back. "Car," she snaps. "Before we get killed."

* * *

The car ride isn't the best, tension filling the small compartment. He hadn't packed anything, an extraction team coming later to collect his personal items and disposing of them properly as well as the property. All Cisco needed to get was his gun and explosives, the weaponry slipped into the back seat of the car while Caitlin sat in the passenger seat, having already checked it for rigged explosives, the engine running.

And as soon as he jumped in, they were off.

The silence stretches as they speed along the empty streets, eager to make it to the safety house a few towns over. It is painful; Cisco had never has such an awkward moment with Caitlin, they were always so easy and open together. But now there was a cloud hanging over them. And he couldn't find the words to address it.

His gaze flickers to the rear view mirror. His lips purse. "When did you become such a prolific actress?" He winces the moment the words leave his mouth; a plethora of responses could pass through her lips and he wouldn't like most of them. He had left for most of a year, with no contact.

She gives him a level stare. "Who said anything about acting?" Her words are crisp and he knows he is still unforgiven. She glares, crossing her arms as she looks to the side, and the frown deepens.

"Cait."

"No," she hisses, eyes aflame. And she was Medusa, one look from her turning him into stone, unable to speak or move. "Don't you call me that. Not after you told me you loved me and then _left_." The breath that leaves her shakes slightly, Caitlin repeating it until it was steady and she was calm. "Just tell me this: were you going to tell me if you didn't accept the mission?"

He doesn't answer.

He doesn't have to.

He doesn't really have a choice.

He can sense her anxiousness spike, knows then that his suspicious of the car behind them was founded. It had been trailing them for a while now, but it would be difficult to shake, the road they were driving down isolated and alone, a forest on either side. He nudges the accelerator, discreetly pushing their car faster. It was all that was needed for the other car to make their move, ramming the back of theirs, an attempted pit manoeuvre failing as Cisco stomps on the accelerator, pulling away from them.

It is then that there is a hail of gunfire.

It shatters the back window of the car, the pair flinching as the glass sprays over the top of their heads, Caitlin ducking as Cisco steps on the accelerator, desperate to get out. He tries to keep low, a bullet wedging itself in the frame of his seat. Caitlin in doubled over, rummaging through her bag. He almost shouts at her as she turns, gun in her hand as she shoots through the hole in the back of the car, striking their windshield. The glass fractures, but doesn't crack, and judging from the swerve of the car, Cisco doesn't think they can see very well through the glass.

He is proven correct when the go to the side, speeding up so they could be level with his car.

(His baby, he thinks sadly. They destroyed his baby.)

The attackers come up slowly to them, Cisco not willing to give them an inch. He contemplates trying to run them off the road, hope they would hit one of the trees in the forest surrounding the highway. He doesn't, isn't sure whether his car would be strong enough to do what was necessary without being destroyed itself.

There are dents across the black hood of the car, and Caitlin watches as it goes past her. And she waits.

Cisco is ready to get her to duck, fingers itching to leave the steering wheel and grab his own pistol, the device resting in a concealed compartment he had installed in case a scenario like this arose. Caitlin was not an active agent, she didn't do undercover ops and her accuracy with gun was adequate, but not that impressive.

They shoot first, breaking the back window on the right side and then the front, glass washing over Caitlin. It saves him the time of winding them down.

And there is Caitlin, gun in hand, two shots hitting two targets. Their car veers off to the side, an explosion as it strikes into a tree. Caitlin calls the emergency services, a fireball in the rear view mirror as Cisco continues to keep an eye on the crash, in case miracles do actually take place. It is only when they are miles away that he starts to relax, Cisco breathing more easily at the thought of reaching their safe house and letting all the worries of the mission slip away.

"When did you learn how to shoot like that?" He can hear the mirth in his voice, the joy of being alive holding him in an embrace he wouldn't want to escape.

"I learnt a lot while you were gone."

He whoops in joy, a maddening grin on his face as he settles back in his seat, the car cruising to the safe house where they were expected.

It takes him a good while to notice the quiet, too relieved by the fact they were alive to be suspicious or worried. Caitlin becomes silent as he continues to drive and he assumes that she is still annoyed at him. But her breathing is heavy and her eyes look heavier.

And it is then that he notices her hands holding her right side, notices the red liquid that stained her clothes and hands, oozing between her fingers. Whether it is a shard of glass or a bullet, he doesn't know. But she is too pale, looks too weak. Drowsy.

"Crap Caitlin!" He steps on the accelerator faster, the potential threats on their lives a distant memory as the more pressing issue beside him. "You're injured."

"I know." And he feels as though his acknowledgement was interpreted as permission, Caitlin resting her head back, a soft whimper leaving her mouth. "I didn't want to worry you, that's all."

He wonders if strangling her for that statement would be seen as justifiable homicide at court. "Of course you should tell me." He hits the steering wheel, swearing low and long, a mixture of Spanish and English as he takes a look at her again, perspiration forming on the crown of her head, breathing short and shallow. How did he not notice before? "Do you know where the nearest hospital is?"

Her eyes close, face contorting in pain, a hiss escaping her lips. She looks like she has given up. "Too far away Cisco."

She had.

"No." It is an order, a helpless one but there is nothing else he can say or do. The first aid kit wouldn't be enough to treat her; she needs a hospital and proper care and he can't give her anything. He pulls out his phone, one eye on the road as he types in his password and prays for internet coverage. "Siri. Siri I swear to god if you fail me now I will hack your operating system and shut you down." He tries to not concentrate on Caitlin, tries to not listen to the noises that leave her lips, in pain and hurting and gasps for breath. "Siri where is the nearest hospital?"

And miraculously, it works.

It is fifty miles from where he is, Cisco pushing the car as hard as he could. "We're so close baby, so close. So you can't give up on me Cait, you hear - you can't." He manages to steal a glance at her, his heart dropping at the sight of her in pain and so close to death. "You still have to scream at me for falling in love with you." A huff of breath leaves him, Cisco too distraught to manage an actual laugh. "I've been preparing for it a whole year. No way are you going anywhere before it happens."

She laughs, weak and broken, the noise quickly turning into a groan of pain. "So, would this be a bad time to tell you I'm in love with you too?"

She is on the cusp of consciousness, words blending into together, mumbled as she loses the fight. And he is by her side, urging her to continue living, telling her there is a hospital only fifty miles away and if she could just hold on for a little bit longer she would be treated and fine and just hold on Caitlin because he couldn't live without her, he had already lost so much he couldn't survive losing her as well.

She interrupts him, one hand leaving her bloodied side to be placed on his knee. And he covers it with his own, hold it tight as he urges the car to move that much faster, prays for a little bit more time. "And I thought your confession would be the one that was followed by death."

He turns to her, eyes wide.

But Caitlin was unconscious.

* * *

She awakes surrounded by white,

white and a worried man sitting by her bedside. She blinks repeatedly, Cisco's form solidifying in front of her, creases in his forehead as he stares blankly ahead, his chin resting on his palms as he leans forward on her bed. He's beautiful she thinks, taking him in. He clearly hadn't done his hair that morning, locks hanging over his eyes, stray hairs messily pointing in different directions. He was wearing the same shirt as the accident, and there are cuts all over his arms that aren't treated, small scabs forming where the trickle of blood once ran.

He was so devastatingly beautiful. And so, so sad.

"Heaven's nice," she jokes, coughing immediately after. And he jumps at the sound of her voice, rough and scratchy and he is calling for a nurse, hitting an alarm, shouting until someone arrives. He hovers behind the nurse checking over her, worry and awe in his gaze as he watches over her unblinkingly. He waits for the room to empty for resuming his seat by her bed, sliding his hand into hers. Caitlin can't say anything, she loses the ability to speak, Cisco running his thumb over the top of her hand, lifting it to his face, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. He doesn't let go, Cisco opening her palm, pressing it against his face, blinking away his tears.

"You're awake," he finally chokes out, his first words since she awakens. "God, I've dreamed about this." She thinks about kissing him, thinks it would be incredibly romantic if she were to lean up and kiss the sad expression off his face. Thinks she denied herself it for years and almost died before she had taken the opportunity. Thinks that a near death experience is a real wake-up call and she really couldn't waste energy on being angry anymore, not if she risks losing him every day of their lives.

She tries, Caitlin trying to pull herself up to a sitting position. It is a terrible mistake, a shooting pain down her side, her elbow buckling underneath the agony she was in. Cisco springs into action, dropping her hand to hover over her, giving her assistance. She places her arms over his shoulders, leans on him as she slides up the bed into the proper position, too distracted by the pain to think of how close his face was to her own, to think about how soft his lips look, to think about how perfect it would be. His face is pinched in concentration, Cisco grabbing her pillow and sliding it behind her back as support, Caitlin wriggling in her spot, a gentle smile on her face as she gets comfortable. "Thanks," she gets out, Cisco returning to his spot beside her bed, her hand left cold beside her as he ignores it. "How long have I been out?"

His eyebrows pinch together and she fears to know what he's thinking about. "A day, a day and a half." She almost shoots out of the bed, Cisco whispers words of calm until she settles down. "It's okay Caitlin, the mission is fine. Ralph came to pick up the documents and you've been ordered to rest. I told Harry, he knows what's happened. You'll be safe here."

She nods, eyes soft as her shoulders fall in relief. He drinks her in, alive and awake and here with him. But then she pauses, glancing around before turning back to him, head crooked to the side. "Where is here exactly?"

He huffs out a laugh. "Honestly, I don't really know. There's a tracker switched on, they came and then they left."

Her smile flickers, softening as she takes him in. There were bags underneath his eyes and lines on his forehead. She dreams of wiping them away, of soothing away his worries.

"You saved me you know." He scoffs at her description, rolling his eyes at her. "I thought I was going to die."

His lips tug upward despite himself, a memory brought to the forefront of his mind. They had been so young and innocent back then. "Not while I'm around."

She grins at him, fully and completely and he can't help but beam right back at her. "You're still not forgiven for leaving," she says, mock sternness injected into her tone.

"Uhh, you almost died," he retorts, eyebrows raised. "I think we're even now."

She shrugs, eyes dancing in amusement. "I guess."

A silence envelopes them, comfortable and relaxing. But she can feel it hovering over them, knows he can too, wishes that one of them would muster up the courage to address what they both yearn to. It is Cisco. "So what does that mean? For us?" It comes out uncertain and small and he takes her hand, hesitant in his assumption. But she squeezes his hand, smiling at him, bright and wide and he looks like he had seen sunshine for the first time in so long, Cisco blinking in quick repetition, mouth falling open a little.

And then he smiles back at her and everything is right in the world once more.

"I think it means that I would like to hear you say it without you leaving me right after."

A breath rushes out of him, and his smile won't dim, he isn't sure if it is physically possible for him to hide it. "I love you Caitlin. Always."

He moves, sits on the side of her hospital bed to be closer to her, repeats the declaration, leaning forward until his face was inches away from her own. And there is a sharp inhale from Caitlin, his breath ghosting over her face, Caitlin looking at him with wide, doe eyes. "Kiss me Cisco." She barely moves her mouth, barely moves an inch of her, anticipation thrumming in her veins. And he does, pressing a light kiss on her lips, chaste and pure and he lingers, breathing her in, eyelids closing as he memorised the moment, searing it into his brain. "I love you too Cisco." It is a quiet whisper against his mouth, Caitlin pressing another kiss against him, deeper and stronger and he groans trying to keep it inside him.

His hand finds the nape of her neck, hold her close to him as he loses himself in her, her touch and taste and he hates that the cold, sterilised hospital smell hangs off her, because the smell he associates with her was normally fruity and like sunshine after a rainy day.

There is a beeping in the background, picks up in its frequency.

It is that which startles him, Cisco breaking off the kiss, a giggle leaving her lips as she realises it was her heart rate monitor. He relaxes at her calmness, resting his forehead on hers. His hand slides from the back of her head, tracing the outline of her cheekbone and jaw before cupping the side of her face. And they bask in the moment, silent and happy, the only sound in the room other than the hum of her medical machinery the deep exhales expelled from them.

He pulls away eventually, much to Caitlin's displeasure. "You're never escaping me again," she growls teasingly.

"Oh, about that..." His lips quirk up into a smile and she eyes him suspiciously. "Harry kinda called when you were unconscious and told me I had a new mission. Kinda have to leave when you woke up." She swings a punch at his arm, Cisco bracing himself for it, laughing as she makes contact with his bicep. "Kidding, I'm kidding." Caitlin pouts at him, leaning back into her pillow as she crosses her arms. "In fact he said we both have a month off. Mandatory leave to recover." He takes her hand, plays with her fingers. And he seems distracted by it, averting his gaze as he rushes out the next few words. "So I was thinking we could go together, if you want. Maybe Mexico or Bermuda..." She thinks she says his name, must murmur it underneath her breath, because he looks up at her, meeting her gaze. And he covers up his nervousness with cockiness, winking as he continues. "I'd love to see you in a bikini."

She cocks her head to the side, confusion slipping on her face. "You've seen me in a bikini though..." She drifts off, a smile coming to her unbidden as he continues to grin toothily at her, eyes sparkling.

"Yeah, but this time I'd actually be allowed to take it off you."

* * *

Bermuda was wonderful.

And yes, stripping it off her was just as great as he had imagined.


End file.
